


Ugly Duckling

by a_shepherd



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Brother & Sister Bond, Cultural Standards, Gen, Self-Esteem Issues, Sibling Bonding, Vor Society Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_shepherd/pseuds/a_shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belatedly, from a  Ficathon 2013 Prompt from ana: </p><p>Someone gives Aral important advice/a life lesson. Whether from words of wisdom (a conversation he has with someone) or due to an event (good or bad, big or small, stupid or profound)is up to you - my only criteria is that there is a canon character involved, preferably female, and she doesn't have to be an adult - could be a child.<br/>BUT NOT CORDELIA.</p><p> </p><p>     "Oh, he knew full well it was coming, the seemingly obligatory ‘small for his age, isn’t he?’ comment, but that didn’t take any of the sting out of it. Wincing mentally in advance, he just hoped he could get it over with sooner rather than later, so maybe, just maybe, the rest of the evening wouldn’t be too grueling, and he might actually enjoy some of it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ugly Duckling

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [ana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ana/pseuds/ana) in the [Bujold_Ficathon_2013](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bujold_Ficathon_2013) collection. 



> I went for characters - all canon specific females, as specified - who are mentioned but rarely, if ever, seen, that I felt had a major impact on and/or were important his life. The first two - there are three in all (there’s no such thing as too much Aral) - are not even named in the Vorkosiverse. 
> 
> This is the first of the series.

      As befitting his father’s position as Barrayar’s greatest military hero and his mother’s as a Vorbarra princess, his parents had decided to host a large, formal Winterfair party. Da was the count now, with Grandpére Vorkosigan dead almost two years and buried in the new family cemetery at Vorkosigan Surleau, replacing the ancestral one in the old district capital at Vorkosigan Vashoi, now a glowing radioactive pile, having been nuked into oblivion by the Cetas.  Renovations to Vorkosigan House had started shortly after the war when the family had settled in, but with so many of the grand old houses in the capital being restored after the Cetas left, having been neglected and/or abandoned for so long during the Occupation, it had taken nearly a year on the waiting list and another two years of actual work spent dodging work crews, scaffolding, painters’ tarps, and fine plaster dust everywhere, with frequent plumbing and electrical malfunctions. With the repairs and remodeling _finally_ completed, his parents felt it was high time to show the place off properly and resume the family’s place in Vor society. 

      As far as Aral was concerned, it was simply an occasion for yet another brutal, ego bruising meet-and-greet. The Count-his-Father mingled - held court, practically! - with the earlier arrivals, as he, along with his mother and siblings, formally welcomed their guests in front of the massive winding staircase opening onto the the foyer with its magnificent, newly restored tessellated floor.  He and his brother were smartly dressed in their new brown and silver house uniforms made specially for the occasion, with his sister delightedly flaunting her new velvet dress, in the same colors. As he expected, on arrival, the assorted party-goers gushed over Selig and Galina. _I don’t begrudge them, honestly, I don’t,_ he told himself. _I_ _admire their beauty as much as anyone else,_ and to his very great credit, those weren’t just idle words. 

      He hadn’t yet decided though which was worse - being overlooked and ignored completely or being found sadly lacking in comparison to his beautiful siblings, with the wavy black hair and luminous brown eyes of their Vorrutyer kin, by way of their late Grandmére Vorkosigan. _I could handle it,_ he told himself, _if all the fuss wasn’t quite, well... quite so blatant._ _And if I didn’t stick out like a sore thumb among all these beautiful people…_ He desperately wished he could blend into background, or become invisible. _Yeah, invisible, that would do the trick!,_ as he kept trying to sidle behind tall Selig, only to be nudged forward again by his mother, who sighed wistfully at his maneuvering. 

      Oh, he knew full well it was coming, the seemingly obligatory ‘small for his age, isn’t he?’ comment, but that didn’t take any of the sting out of it. Wincing mentally in advance, he just hoped he could get it over with sooner rather than later, so maybe, just maybe, the rest of the evening wouldn’t be too grueling, and he might actually enjoy some of it.

      It was delivered not too much later by Uncle Vanya Vorpatril’s uncle - the Count himself. Seeing him and Galina side by side, the Count squinted, visually sizing them up, and asked Olivia in a conversational tone _(As if I can’t hear him!)_ which of the two was older, as Uncle Vanya nudged the older man frantically in the ribs, trying to get him to shut up or at least be more discreet. His uncle gave up, shooting him a wan, apologetic smile, which he returned with a shrug and a half-hearted smile of his own. Lina was three years younger, but now as tall as he was… and she was not usually considered tall. That was a very sore point with him. An _extremely_ sore point. He grimaced, sighing in resignation…

     The _last_ time the same situation came up, as it had a depressing tendency to do, he spent all evening trying to convince Lina he wasn’t mad at _her_ ; it wasn’t _her_ fault. He was trying very hard at the moment not to let his emotions show, when he felt his sister’s fingers twine around his own. A sideways glance revealed her scrunching her nose, sticking out her tongue, and blowing a very wet raspberry at the retreating Vorpatril backs. In spite of his funk, he laughed

 

      Leaning in toward him, she whispered in his ear, “You’ll grow, Little Mouse, I know it.” At his shrug, she added quietly, “But even if you don’t, you will _always_ be my favorite big brother.” He met her sunny, encouraging smile with his own embarrassed but grateful grin.

      The guest arrivals had slowed, with a very few stragglers occasionally dwindling in. Musicians could be heard warming up in the enormous dining room which had been converted for the evening into a ballroom. Just when he thought the onslaught might mercifully be over, a very late arrival - one of the General-his-Father’s haughty looking senior generals accompanied by his even more haughty looking wife - looked down his long nose at him after fawning over his brother and sister and harrumphed loudly to the Princess-his-Mother, “Boy doesn’t look at all like the other two, does he?”

      He felt his sister’s hand stiffen in his. Galina huffed, drew herself up to her full height and glared at the man fiercely, proclaiming equally loudly, “No, he doesn’t. He looks _exactly_ like Lord Aral Vorkosigan.” 

 

      He heard his brother’s snort and barely contained one of his own in spite of himself. Even for Lina, that was pretty audacious. His mother, eyes dancing, intoned solemnly, “Galina Petrovna, dearest, we _must_ mind our manners.” He knew Mama wasn’t angry at Lina at all, or her voice would have been that icy Betan whisper all three of them had learned to dread.

      “I really don’t know what’s gotten into the girl this evening,” their mother continued, laying on the faux sincerity to the aggrieved-looking general and his spouse. “She’s usually _so_ _much_ better behaved.”

      Selig, on his left, guffawed, causing Mama to glare not very convincingly at her older son. Eventually, even _he_ couldn’t help himself, as a small snort got away. Galina wasn’t even attempting to hide her giggles, but by that time, the offended and offending personage had gathered up the wife, turned on his heels and was off heading for the reception, no doubt muttering about young people these days - _Harrumph!_ \- _no respect at all! Harrumph!_

      For good measure, Galina blew another juicy raspberry in their direction. Mama laughed, her rich laughter tinkling like water in a stony-bottomed creek, and sighed in faux exasperation. “I just don’t _what_ we’re going to do with you, missy,” she said. “It’s hardly safe to take you out in public!” She laughed again, and planted a kiss on her daughter’s curly head, telling her, “Just so you know, Sweetie, I couldn’t have put it better myself!”     

      Mama kissed his cheek, causing him to blush deeply. A beaming Lina kissed him on the other cheek. He blushed even redder. Tall Siggy planted one on the top of his head - he tried to swat him away! Mama gathered the three of them into a group hug, then took Selig’s arm and swooped off in search of their father, she to perform her Countess duties and Selig to play his role as Count’s Heir, leaving him and Lina alone in front of the open double doors of the festively decorated dining room, now bursting at the seams with the cream of Vor society.      

      “Honestly, Aral! Some _people!_ I just don’t understand why everyone’s so bothered about the way you look.” Galina cast a disdainful look at the crowd in general, nostrils flaring, righteously indignant on his behalf. “ _I_ think you look just fine.” 

     “Heh,” he grunted. “That’s all well and good, Lina, but I can’t marry _you_ , can I now?”

      “Seriously, Mouse? Seriously? You’re ten years old and you’re worried about _getting_ _married?”_ she asked incredulously. “Mama’s right, y’know. You _are_ such an awful worrywart sometimes!” 

      She punched him in the arm. Hard! He flinched. It genuinely hurt, to his great surprise. Gingerly rubbing the now sore spot, he grumbled, “Where’d you learn to hit like that?” 

      Grinning ear-to-ear, she said, ”Oh, from this funny-looking boy I know. He hits harder than _anyone_! He’s going to be a very famous general some day. You might know him? On the short side? A real worrywart? 

      He just had to laugh out loud at that, shaking his head as well as shaking off some of the evening’s tension. “You’d just better not let Da find out, though,” he cautioned. “He’ll say learning to fight is NOT appropriate for a girl. He’ll make us stop the lessons.”  

      She muttered something extremely rude in Russian under her breath that he was momentarily shocked that she knew, and screwed up her pretty little nose in a way that left no doubt about what she thought about _that_ very Barrayaran attitude!

      “And that funny-looking boy? It’s an admiral he’s going to be some day. _Not_ a general, ” he said with a straight face, after which she punched his other arm. They both dissolved in giggles and eye-watering laughter before moving to a nearby corner to allow the party-goers better access to the dining room doors.

      Lina stood face to face with him, eye to eye, still holding his hand. “Someday, Aral,” she said softly, “when you’re all grown up, you’ll meet the lucky lady who will love you the way you love her, and she’s not going to care, _not_ _one tiny bit,_ if you’re not the handsomest man in the room, nor the tallest. She won’t even notice.”

      Swallowing hard, he blinked rapidly to hold back quick tears. What was that expression Gran always used? ‘ _Out of the mouthes of babes,’ or something like that?_ He took her other hand in his and asked quietly, “How did you get to be so wise at the ripe old age of seven?”

 

      “I listen to Gran,” she chirped brightly. “People think I don’t listen to _anyone_ , but that’s not true. I do listen. Most of the time... I even listen to _you_. Quite a lot, actually, but don’t get all fat-headed about it. I mostly listen to Gran. _Especially_ to Gran.”

      He grunted in agreement. “Well, sure. So do I. Gran’s the wisest lady _I’ve_ ever known,” then added quickly, “aside from, Mama, of course.”

      Lina removed her hands from his and swatted him on the shoulder, much lighter than her  earlier punches had been. “And just where do you think _Mama_ learned it from, you goof?”

      Grabbing the heavily embroidered cuff of his new tunic (he’d _finally_ outgrown the old one), she pulled him through the doors into the crowd, laughing. “Come on, you. They’re going to start the mirror dance. As my favorite big brother, you _have_ to be my partner.”

 

      “What about your _other_ big brother?” he whispered into her ear as they ran in and took their places among the dancers.  Aral bowed deeply before her, as befitting a princess. 

      Returning his bow with an equally deep curtsey, she snorted and snickered, “What? Siggie? You’ve _got_ to be kidding! He’s such a klutz!”

      As the dance proceeded and their movements grew ever more intricate, he became aware that the pair of them were drawing appreciative and admiring glances from the mostly adult dancers and onlookers. While he knew he could never match his siblings in the looks department, he had recently come to realize that he more than outdistanced them as far as stamina, athletic ability, and effortless agility were concerned. In his head, he could hear the Prince-his-Grandfather’s voice as he put his grandsons through their paces at monthly post-war dance lessons, exhorting them, “Remember, gentlemen, the ability to cut a graceful figure on the dance floor is as important as is a forceful one, if not more so. It is a highly regarded skill in civilized society, greatly prized among the High Vor. _We_ are High Vor. Standards _must_ be maintained.” 

      _Lina’s right._ _Siggie’s hopeless as a dancer!_ he thought. _No sense of rhythm,_ as Gran once remarked, _with two left feet!_ Gran had what he thought of as a treasure trove of Betan expressions, nearly all of them delightfully pithy, in his opinion. The exasperated Prince Xav had taken to holding him up as an example to his brother, which predictably didn’t go down well at all at the time, but Siggie, now holding up the far wall with a few of his many friends, was much too good-natured to hold a grudge for more than a minute or two, no matter how hard he tried. As he and Lina swirled past, a grinning Siggie bowed, saluted and waved. 

      Despite her age, Lina was keeping up with him extremely well, he thought, even if he _was_ holding back just a bit on her behalf. As they made their swirling turns around the floor, her earlier prediction kept running through his head - about meeting the lucky lady (the ‘lucky’ part made it all the more special) who would love him as he loved her, no matter _what_ he looked like or how tall he was - or wasn’t. In the back of his mind, he could hear Da’s scoffing voice denouncing it as a fairy tale. _Heh, that Ugly Duckling one, probably,_ he thought, except he just couldn’t see himself ever becoming a swan. He chose to accept her comment in the warm and loving spirit in which it was offered. Even if it _never_ came true, he’d never forget it and would always be grateful to his little sister for her heartfelt advice.

 


End file.
